Time Machines

 

100 years ago, in the Beforetimes, I had one a these. Mine was ruggedized and cost quite a bit more than your garden variety Walkman. It had the conformal coated electronics, rubber armour all the way around and hermetic seals that made it water resistant - emphasis on “resistant”. I had the perfect accessory for it too… a Rockhopper mountain bike. I paid through the nose for both… I didn’t make much money in my youth.

I was a super hero in my youth.

I was the fastest beer keg on two wheels.

But today, no one remembers 

The Amazing Shimano Man…

😞

 

One day Big Bro was laughing at me for it, saying that a low slung fatboy like Yours Truly on a Rockhopper was like putting a slant six in a Corvette. I laughed too, but proposed a semi-serious race. Down Highway 16 for 18 miles, south 10 or 15 miles just before Elk Island national park - a quick visit and top off the water bottles at Pa Filthie’s farm, then 4 more miles south, hang a right at Highway 14 and east another 16 or 18 back to the park, another right at 231, back into the Park with the finish line at my in-laws. 

All the way out we went, Big Bro about a mile in front, and most of the way back. I started closing up the gap about 10 miles out and was right on his back tire by the time we were still 6 miles out. “See ya later, Fat Boy!” he said - and he stood up on his pedals and started pouring on the coal. I did likewise, and made several attempts to pass but to no avail. I turned purple as I tried to win but he was just too fast for me. He beat me by a nose. We came in fast, crashed and collapsed on the in laws’ front lawn. Father in law reacted like the guns’ n hoses ERT team at the LA airport… he spooled off the garden hose like a crack firefighter and hosed down the sizzling dead meat and wreckage like a pro. Then he hauled out some emergency home brew and we cleaned out his fridge in minutes. Then we nearly drank the garden hose dry too. It was one of those summer days in the 30’s.  In all seriousness we were both probably pushing serious dehydration at the end.

“I may be a little rotund…but that doesn’t mean I’m slow…” I croaked. Big Bro got waterlogged and fought back the nausea. He was actually an athlete in those days, running marathons, triathlons and death races. I was just happy to have stayed on his back tire, pushing him all the way and making him work for his win. To me it was a lark and an occasion for great sport and merriment…but he looked back at me with rage and resentment. At the time I was astonished. I didn’t get then, and I still don’t today. 

Or… maybe I do? I remember him playing ball as kids and gawd - he hated to lose. Some farm kid struck him out in the playoffs in little league and he was in tears. I remember Pop getting frustrated with him and yelling at him to grow up and that just made it all worse. Looking back at it all as an adult… Big Bro was a bloody poor sort and always had been! I’ll be damned - I never really thunk about any a this before. Oh well… poor sports are nothing new. Gawd - the things your mind gets to, when ya poop the bed and lay awake at night, immersed in old memories… all that must a been well close to 40 years ago now. Big Bro’s marriage was blowing up around that time too, if I recall, which couldn’t have helped. We’ve always seen the world differently. I look back at that informal race as a great big idiotic hoot and he regarded it as a bitter humiliation.  Hmmmpppfffff. 

Oh well… ya can’t be handsome AND popular. I know fags like Cederq, Chutes, Pete and Mike are intensely envious about my rugged good looks and acumen with the ladies! Little men are always intimidated and resentful of their betters!

😂👍

It’s a sad lesson to all of us I suppose. Keep perspective if you can, and don’t let little things ruin the big things. It only took me 40 hard years to learn that lesson.

I hope you are all properly impressed with my admirable clarity of thought. Have a great Thursday!

Cheers!

Filthie